


Outcast Oneshots

by OutcastTrip1995



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: 'Cause Obi-Wan was a pretty weird choice in my opinion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Dagorlad is so done with this shit, Done my way ;), F/M, Grouchy clones, M/M, Mild Blood, Nikov is an angry little murder ball, Oneshots that may or may not end up in A Clone and his Jetii, Original Character Death(s), Outcast Company Shenanigans, Swipes is vicious and slightly unhinged, The Outcasts are definitely unhinged, Umbara screwed everyone over, Writing Wednesday oneshots included, also posted on Tumblr, okay maybe more than slightly, rako hardeen arc, some violence mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-01-03 20:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12153789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutcastTrip1995/pseuds/OutcastTrip1995
Summary: A collection of adventures and other shenanigans that the misfits of Outcast Company and their debatably insane Jedi get up to over the course of the Clone Wars.





	1. Just a Small Disagreement

Sunny snarled at Swipes, the feral sound hissing out from behind his bared and clenched teeth. Fire scarred fists tightening to the point they hurt, he slowly moved in a circle, always keeping an eye on the vicious Lieutenant mirroring him. This fight had been a long time coming, Swipes just wasn’t capable of tolerating the fact that Sunny had taken his place as top clone in the Outcasts … and now he’d finally called Sunny out to fight for the position. It had brought quite the crowd to the outdoor training area, every Outcast from the frontline fighters to the deck officers wanted to see the kleptomaniac assassin they called a Lieutenant face off against the new and yet possibly even more vicious Captain. One might say that the two clashed because of Swipes’s possessive nature, but one might also say that the two spent every living moment disagreeing with one another simply because in many ways they were very much alike. 

“Gonna keep prancing around or are you actually capable of fighting Captain?” 

The question is delivered with such scorn and distaste that Sunny can’t help but let an offended growl slip loose. 

“You know … if you’d just listen to what I have to say instead of objecting and disagreeing to every other word we might not even be in this situation!” 

That ignited Swipes’s fury and the other clone shot forward, going low before bringing his fist up in a vicious uppercut. Sunny felt his teeth crack together painfully as the blow clipped his bottom jaw, the Captain already moving to get some distance between himself and Swipes. Bringing a foot up, he managed to shove Swipes back and, landing on his foot to give himself the support he needed, pivoting expertly he brought his other foot around in a vicious spinning kick that cracked into Swipes’s side above his floating rib. The Lieutenant let out a snarl of pain as he hit the floor, much to the delight of the raucously cheering audience. Sunny tried to end the fight quickly and moved to pin Swipes, only to end up face planting into the duracrete as the older clone rolled away. Face planting hurt, being kicked in the face hurt even more, plus it made getting up again a right pain. Spitting out a dislodged tooth, Sunny looked at it for a moment before barely dodging a nasty left hook from Swipes and returning the favor, his fist crashing into the other clone’s face and causing his head to snap to one side. The two clones fought viciously, blood soon painting the duracrete a dull red as fists and feet collided with various body parts. 

“Oi! What the fek’s going on here?!” 

Uh oh … busted. Both Sunny and Swipes looked up, startled eyes fixed on their clearly angry commanding officer. Swallowing a mouthful of bloody spit, Sunny gave an embarrassed gap-toothed grin as he side-eyed Swipes before looking back at his Jedi. 

“Just a small disagreement.”


	2. Hate to Burst any Bubbles …  Oh Wait … No I Don’t

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threatening a Jedi with a virus is crazy. Threatening a Mandalorian Jedi with a virus ... now that's just plain stupid.

“It’s over Jedi! I drop this vial and you die!” 

The biochemist’s demented laughter choked off when they saw the somewhat unimpressed look on the Jedi’s face. Kicking a chair away from the desk in the room, Dagorlad Fett raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah … mind if I sit?” 

Sitting down anyway, he planted his feet on the meticulously polished wood of the antique furniture and tossed a bored look at the rather nondescript biochemist that had been threatening him. The being, hidden as they were in layers of protective clothing, was almost unrecognisable as being anything other than humanoid … not that he really cared. He’d come here investigating rumors that a Seppie biochemist was working on a device to release the rather deadly Karatos Plague into the capital cities of major Inner Rim and Core worlds. As a Concord Dawn born Mandalorian, Dagorlad knew all too well the dangers of the vicious and often fatal disease, which was why he had to put a stop to the biochemist. Now. Leaning back in the chair and deliberately scuffing his boots into the desk’s varnish, Dagorlad eyed the now confused biochemist. 

“Tell me, what do you know about my origins?” 

The being laughed, a high pitched and rather grating sound that screeched uncomfortably in Dagorlad’s ears. 

“What is there to know? You’re the shame of the Jedi, their wardog only to be unleashed when the dirty work needs doing ...” 

Only the tightening of the skin around Dagorlad’s eyes and the corners of his mouth showed any signs that the jibes had struck their mark, although his eyes remained cold and impassive as he watched the biochemist. Like a predator watching his prey, he decided to let the crazed scientist dig their own grave. 

“... Some low born criminal scum that only solidifies the fact that the Separatist Cause is just!” 

“And a native of Concord Dawn.” 

The biochemist’s tirade spluttered to a halt and they looked at Dagorlad, their alarm screaming out into the Force. 

“Wh-wh-wh-what?!” 

Dagorlad rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. 

“I was born on Concord Dawn, born and raised there for a time.” 

Returning his attention to the frozen scientist and the vial they still had clenched in their fist, Dagorlad smirked dangerously. 

“And like all Concord Dawn natives, I was vaccinated against Karatos Plague. You try to release that in here, and the only person who’s going to die is you.” 

He shrugged and returned his attention to the ceiling. 

“Now … I hate to burst any bubbles … oh wait … no I don’t. To be honest I prefer to just shoot them.” 

Getting up, he backed the scientist into a corner and snatched the vial away with one hand while holding one of his lightsaber’s to their throat with the other. 

“Now, there are two ways I see this going. One, you come quietly and I hand you over to the authorities like I’m supposed to. Or ... I can break this vial, damage your safety gear and watch while you succumb to this rather nasty little virus. It’s your choice.” 

The terror in the room was almost intoxicating, but Dagorlad ignored it, instead preferring to just keep talking. 

“So you see it’s really quite simple. After all, the virus will kill you regardless; I on the other hand am still mulling it over.” 

An hour later saw a rather sulky looking Dagorlad handing the miserable scientist over to Alderaan’s police force, along with all their documents surrounding their work on the Karatos Plague. The actual vials containing the disease had been left in the Mandalorian’s custody, he planned on launching them into a star so no one could be harmed by the fatal virus. All in all, not a bad little mission, although the zero kill count definitely made it one of his more boring jobs.


	3. "Ya neva did."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all younglings were found and taken when they were just babes. And not all younglings had families that accepted their gifts ...

Nikov winced when he heard loud shouts coming from the house and slowly backed behind one of the thorny trees that covered Dathomir. His parents were arguing again … probably about him. The six year old zabrak didn’t know why his father was so angry that he’d been able to lift up the tree blocking the barn without touching it, but the enraged shouting and being sent to bed without supper quickly told him that what he could do wasn’t welcome in the house. 

“Brat!” 

Sighing, Nikov nervously poked his head out from behind the tree, his silver eyes nervous as he watched his father storm out of the house and glare murderously in his direction. Shaking his shaggy fringe out of his eyes, the child gulped and approached his father. 

“Yessir?” 

He winced as a rough hand smacked the back of his head, causing him to stumble forwards. 

“Get inside!” 

“Or he can come with me … you obviously don’t want him.” 

Both Nikov and his father jumped at the rough voice that preceded a veritable giant silently walking out of the reddish fog. The intruder stopped a few paces from the zabraks and folded their arms, revealing two strange weapons attached to their belt. 

“The kid’s strong with the Force, I could sense him even before I landed.” 

Nikov’s eyes widened and he looked at the stranger with a mixture of awe and apprehension. A Jedi????? An honest-to-Mother Jedi????? Why had a Jedi come to Dathomir … Jedi never came to Dathomir … Nikov’s thoughts were interrupted by his father’s dark growling. 

“So what? You think you can just waltz down here and take him?” 

Nikov never expected the shove that sent him tumbling into the dirt in front of the Jedi with a yelp, the scrawny child slowly picking himself up and looking back at his father with wide eyes. Cold yellow eyes looked at him in detached disgust before his father turned away and walked back towards the house. 

“Take him then for all I care.” 

Nikov just sat there in the dirt, watching with wide eyes as his father; a poor excuse of a father but the only one he’d ever had, walked away. Tears sprung unbidden to the child’s eyes and he scrubbed them away angrily even as the Jedi scoffed quietly and crouched down by him. Nikov started at the rough, glove covered thumb that wiped the tears from his cheeks before he was picked up and propped on an armored hip. 

“Hey, don’t worry. I’ve got you now kiddo, and I ain’t ever going to abandon you.” 

*** 

Nikov sat up on his bunk, a smile on his face as the memory of his … rescue? Retrieval? Liberation? Faded away. 

“Ya neva did eitha’.”


	4. A Medic's Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as medics go, Wrench was a bitter, jaded example of the clone medical profession. Umbara just made that all the more obvious

Umbara … a shadowy hell hole that Wrench could really have spent his whole life avoiding without regret. The grumpy old medic hadn’t wanted to go to the Separatist controlled planet and he certainly didn’t want to get involved with any conflicts on said planet. All this mess was going to do was give his poor overworked shebs even more work to do, and diminish his dwindling supply of medical resources. But down they were ordered to go so down they went. A campaign like this was a medic’s hell … but it wasn’t like he was the one giving the orders. He just had to suck it up and hope for the best.

***

They’d been dropped off into a hail of blaster fire, and it felt to Wrench that things were only going to go from bad to fucking worse. The irritable medic growled and levelled his sniper class rifle, nothing said overkill for a medic like the lethal beauty that was the DC-17X, pulling the trigger with a cold detachment that saw another Umbaran life snuffed out. Rather one of theirs than a life that he was ultimately responsible for.

***

This new General was at least seven kinds of fucking idiot and another three types of arrogant prejudiced slime. First the fucker’s bombing run had seriously injured General Fett and he’d had to be evacuated along with the other seriously wounded back up to the orbiting star cruisers. And now he was ignoring even the most basic needs of all the troopers, from the two captains right down to the newest shiny’s. Wrench was at his wits end and it was becoming dangerously tempting to unstrap Nynir from his waist and throw the beloved wrench at Krell’s oversized head. He’d seen Nikov trying to talk/argue/scream some sense into Krell’s head, but his little Warbrat was being ignored and that just pissed Wrench off. The only ones allowed to ignore Warbrat were himself, Sunny and the General. Not this overgrown frog with an extra pair of arms and an overinflated sense of his own important. Seeing that Nikov’s hairtrigger temper was close to erupting, Wrench shoved his way forward and grabbed the young Knight by the scruff, hauling him back into the pack of clones before Krell could say or do anything monumentally stupid.

***

Taking the base had been little more than a bloodbath, but at least it meant that they no longer had to deal with the damn forced marches. After ensuring the walking wounded were all on the road to recovery, Wrench stomped out of the makeshift medbay and dropped down onto a crate, opening his pack and pulling out his collection of wrenches. Sighing, he also pulled out a polishing cloth and set about cleaning each and every tool until they shone, his stress leaking away the more he worked. As he set the last of his now clean wrenches back into his pack, he noticed Hardcase, Fives and Klutz all sneaking around and lurking by the hangar. Shrugging, he stood and went back to the medbay. If those idiots decided to play pilot when they still had two perfectly capable pilots then it was none of his business.

***

Dammit all to hell he should’ve made it his business! If he had, maybe his idiot brothers and young General would not be facing a firing squad and he wouldn’t be locked in the medbay to ensure he didn’t intervene. Snarling hopelessly, he slammed his fist desperately into the lifeless opening panel and looked out of the small window set in the door, trying to break out before they were executed. The 501st boys he didn’t particularly care about, they were Kix’s problem … but Swipes, Klutz, FireFlight, Sunny and AirRaid, as well as Warbrat … they were his bloody problem! The medbay echoed with Wrench’s desperate screams when the blaster fire sounded before stressed laughter suddenly rang out when Wrench realised what had been done.

“Rex you clever fucker!”

He inwardly promised never to wrench Rex again … the older clone had picked brothers for the firing squad who would’ve never been able to carry out those orders. Slamming at the opening panel again as his relief turned to burning hate, Wrench tried to break out. There was a certain Jedi that needed wrenching.

***

Wrench couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Nikov … Warbrat … his little Jedi bratling of a brother … just lying in a crumpled heap like a crashed speeder, the ragged stump that had once been his arm still bleeding in places where Krell hadn’t cut with his lightsaber and instead just pulled. The nineteen year old’s unconscious body was covered in other, clearly deliberate lightsaber burns and Wrench lost it, firing at the insane Jedi alongside his brothers. When the cackling coward turned and ran, Wrench flung his rifle aside and threw a wrench instead. The clunk it made and the enraged bellow that followed were most satisfying, and brought a grin of sadistic glee to his face. He couldn’t wait to see how many more times his wrenches would find their target simply because the traitor thought them beneath his notice.

***

Home was where the armor came off, at least for the Outcasts, and Wrench couldn’t be happier to be back home on the Galidraan Vengeance and in his office. His office with it’s impressive collection of illicit alcohol and the small yet cozy bunk nestled in the back. Sure he’d have to share now there was a new medic joining them, but changes could be made later. Both his Jedi were in bacta, the walking wounded were all sleeping and everyone else could in all honesty bugger off and look after themselves. They all knew where the aid kits were. Grabbing a dusty bottle of somewhat cheap whiskey, Wrench dropped back onto his bunk and chugged the burning alcohol straight from the bottle. Umbara had been hell, but he’d done his job and brought most of his brothers home. And that was all that counted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> Nynir-strike
> 
> Feel free to comment and leave kudos! I love to hear what you guys think! X3


	5. Only Temporary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dagorlad hates it when Plo takes advantage of their friendship to drag him on missions he doesn't want to get involved in. Especially ones that involve him delving into his past ...

Dagorlad sighed as he opened up the storage container he’d hidden so many years ago, an almost bitter smile on his face. Only Master Plo knew about this particular container, and of course the sneaky Kel Dor used that and their friendship to wrangle him into taking part in this farce. 

“Rather you than Kenobi. After all, who better to infiltrate a team of bounty hunters than the child of bounty hunters?” 

The honest words of the old Master echoed in Dagorlad’s head and his shoulders slumped tiredly. He felt like such a fraud even considering this, but Plo was right, it’d work. Reaching into the container, he carefully pulled out a set of old, yet well cared for Mandalorian beskar’gam and set it on the ground in front of him. The green paint still shone in the dim lights of the Underworld’s murky Level 12, the black mythosaur skull painted on the shoulder plates chipped but still easily identified. Making sure it was all in order, Dagorlad packed the armor back into it’s container and hefted it up. 

“Guess it’s time my father reappeared on the bounty hunting scene. 

*** 

Sitting in the Healer’s wing of the Jedi Temple, in his late father’s armor no less, was a rare thing for Dagorlad to do, he preferred to let Wrench deal with his wounds. But the medbay back on base didn’t have the equipment needed, and apparently there were Council members that wanted to oversee everything to make sure he didn’t weasel out of the mission. Plo, Master Yoda and Master Windu were all standing between Dagorlad and the door, making sure that the younger man couldn’t sneak out and just ditch. Huffing and shrugging his shoulders to try and get the too big armor to sit more comfortably, Dagorlad flopped back on the bed and glared up at the ceiling. Thankfully he resembled his father greatly, but there were some minor cosmetic changes he’d have to endure, plus he needed a few extra inches adding to his height. 

“You sure I have to be the one to do this?” 

Plo chuckled quietly, folding his arms and watching Dagorlad with the amused exasperation of one who had known the Mandalorian for many years. 

“Yes you do young one. We’ve been over this mission several times now, you’re the best choice we have.” 

Dagorlad grumbled quietly, ignoring the droid as it slid a needle into his arm and blabbered something about the programming all being ready to go. He kind of wished he hadn’t ignored it after pain more excruciating than anything he’d ever experienced (and he’d been blown up!) shot through his body. It felt like everything was melting and stretching all at the same time and he grit his teeth so hard he thought they’d break too. Thankfully the pain was over as quickly as it had came and he was able to sit up, panting harshly to get his breath back. Sitting up had felt strange in itself, like his center of gravity had shifted, and it took Dagorlad a few minutes to realise that his father’s armor now fitted him properly. Shakily standing, he towered over the three other Jedi and looked down at them, blinking slightly. He knew he was supposed to look like his father now, but he couldn’t help but feel more than a little curious. 

“Well … this is … different.” 

Plo just looked up at him, an almost sad cant to his eyeridges as he handed Dagorlad a small reflective panel of transparisteel, letting the Mandalorian see his borrowed face. Dagorlad blinked sharply, words failing him as he stared at a face he only now saw in his dreams, one hand drifting up to trace the trio of claw scars that slashed across one cheek. 

“Fek …” 

Swallowing and reminding himself that this was only temporary, that he only had to look like his long dead father for the duration of the mission, Dagorlad looked over at the Jedi. 

“So … how do I get myself arrested?”


	6. This Looks Like Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disguised as his infamous bounty hunter of a father, Dagorlad has successfully infiltrated the Republic Prison in search of Moralo Eval. The thing is, Dagorlad is a magnet for trouble. So, it’s only natural he will get into a couple fights along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how late this update is! Real life just got a bit too much ^^''
> 
> Aw well, have an update since it's my birthday today! X3

Being arrested and thrown into a prison was definitely nowhere near as fun as breaking out. By the time Dagorlad was being processed by the clones running the maximum security prison he had a black eye, broken nose and several other minor cuts and bruises. He’d also had to suffer the indignity of having his father’s armor and weapons confiscated and locked away. At least that could be retrieved later, whether by Swipes or himself would be up for debate. All this … just to catch some ambitious slime ball that wanted to shoot the Chancellor?! Grumbling and rolling his shoulders in the rough prison jumpsuit, Dagorlad entered the main common room / Mess Hall. As far as he was concerned, he wouldn’t mind a new, less creepy and less manipulative Chancellor sitting in that vaunted seat instead of Palpatine, but orders were orders. Sneering and grabbing a tray from another prisoner before shoving his way into the food line, Dagorlad decided to silence his rumbling stomach. What few protests there were got quickly silenced by a cold glare and a quiet snarl as Dagorlad revelled in the chance to get away with some of his … less savory attitude traits. The food looked like it had been thrown up by a dying Womp Rat, but it smelt edible … maybe? Shrugging as he tilted his tray and watched the slop slide around, Dagorlad headed over to a table and dropped down onto a bench after roughly evicting a gangly Rodian. Taking a bite of the slop and trying not to gag on it, Dagorlad ignored the posse of prisoners approaching him as everyone else backed away. He’d been expecting this anyway, he was a new face in the prison after all. 

“Fresh meat … s’been a long time since we’ve ‘ad that ‘round here. Nice for them to throw us a new toy” 

Dagorlad lazily looked up, sneering coolly at the Karkarodon that was standing over him. 

“What makes you think I’m going to be anyone’s toy?” 

The punch was disgustingly sloppy and Dagorlad snorted as he tilted his head to one side to avoid it. Reaching out, he grabbed the front of his attacker’s jumpsuit and yanked them forward, knocking them off balance before brutally headbutting the Karkaradon right in his sensitive snout. Standing, the disguised Mandalorian smirked as his opponent stumbled back and tried to set their comrades on him. Dagorlad laughed darkly and cracked his knuckles, sinking into a fighting crouch. He was supposed to be searching for one specific prisoner it was true … but who said he couldn’t have a little fun along the way? 

“Oh this looks like it’s going to be fun.” 

*** 

As fun as the fight had been, taking a shock stick to the back certainly wasn’t. Growling at the guards as he was escorted to his cell, Dagorlad nursed a fresh bruise and cursed himself for being sloppy enough to receive it. Looking at the cell though made him smirk, from the looks of things the clones wanted to put all the rotten eggs in one basket … and were putting him in the cell right alongside his target. Walking into the cell as the energy barrier was lowered, Dagorlad calmly eyed the strange being that was currently watching him. 

“So … you’re the infamous Rhys Fett … rumor has it you were dead.” 

Dagorlad snorted and threw himself onto a bunk, sprawling out and lazily gesturing at his tall frame. 

“Those rumors about my demise have been greatly exaggerated. And while you know my name, I find it odd that I don’t yet know yours?” 

His target took the offered bait as he flopped down into the opposite bunk. 

“I am Morallo Eval.”


	7. Hunted by Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting out of prison? That's easy. Surviving on the outside? Not so much.

Escaping from the maximum security prison with Bane and Eval was disturbingly easy, although Dagorlad did feel a bit of amused embarrassment at interrupting that poor guard’s lunch the way they had. What wasn’t easy though, was staying free now they were out. Out, on the run and currently being hunted apparently. 

“What do you mean you told him I was dead?!” 

Dagorlad stared at the COM in his hand in abject horror as he whisper-shouted down it at the idiot Jedi Council members, having managed to sneak away under the pretense of ship shopping. The selfsame idiots that had told the temperamental Zabrak he’d raised for the past twelve years that he was dead! 

“Calm down Master Fett, your Padawan is being monitored to make sure he doesn’t interfere with the mission.” 

Dagorlad’s currently amber eyes narrowed dangerously and he gripped the COM hard enough to almost shatter it. 

“Oh? And where is my student right now?” 

God’s knew how he’d managed to stay calm as he spoke to the Council, their stupid decision could ruin this mission. Nikov and he were incredibly close, telling the eighteen year old Zabrak that he was dead … that he’d been killed by his current alias … that was just moronic in the extreme. 

“Um …” 

Dagorlad was jolted from his musing and looked blandly down at the COM. Plo sounded incredibly uncomfortable right now. 

“You’ve lost him haven’t you?” 

“No! Just … we appear to have temporarily lost his location.” 

That deserved the eye roll to end all eye rolls and Dagorlad obliged, getting an irritated noise down the COM. 

“I saw that.” 

Good, he was meant to. Dagorlad glowered at the COM, hoping that his old mentor understood the severity of the situation. 

“You have lost track of my potentially homicidal student and in doing so have put my cover and my life at risk. Forgive me if I’m a little pissed off right now.” 

Hearing Bane and Eval approaching, Bane’s griping was unique in it’s almost desert like dryness, Dagorlad threw one last evil look at the COM before shutting it off and turning to deal with the two criminals. 

*** 

Standing like a statue on the Galidraan Vengeance’s bridge, Nikov’s eyes were colder than Hoth as Sneak tracked the bastard who had murdered his mentor, the only father figure he acknowledged, down. 

“They’re refuelling on one of those little fuel planets near Nal Hutta.” 

“Fine.” 

Nikov slammed his helmet on, the T-slit visor even colder and more impassive than his eyes. 

“Boys, the hunt is on.” 

*** 

Dagorlad knew they had problems when two Larties crashed into their ship, trying to force them down. With Eval flying and Bane already scrambling out of the hatch, he knew he had to act fast in order to end this little hunt before someone got hurt. Shaking his head, he followed Bane out of the hatch. He knew full well that when his boys got a pursuit hunt into their heads ... especially Nikov, Swipes, Sneak and Jackal … the hunt wouldn’t end until their quarry was normally bleeding out on the ground and gasping their last. Grumbling to himself, he crashed bodily into Nikov before the enraged teen could end Bane, leaving the Duros bounty hunter to deal with Swipes on his own. Swipes was at least only slightly above Bane’s level, Nikov was in a level of his own compared to the hunter. Facing off against Nikov, Dagorlad struggled to not just pin him and tell the truth. The Krayt Dragon tooth knife that was almost lodged in his throat very quickly removed that idea from his mind. If Nikov was that far gone into hunting mode that he was at the ‘kill first, think about it later’ stage, then it would be either fight or die. And dammit he wasn’t dying … not this time! Pulling the rather old beskad from its sheath, Dagorlad held the heavy sabre in both hands and shifted his stance so he was more steady on the swaying ship. This hunt ended now.


	8. Blood Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many reasons why Swipes should never be allowed free reign. This is one of them ... not that his 'victim' didn't deserve everything coming to him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular ficlet is a little darker than some of the others, mainly 'cause Swipes is one nasty bastard

Swipes grinned evilly from the crate he was lounging on as he watched their captive struggle. This little ‘exercise’ that Dagorlad had sneakily got cleared for them was proving to be a lot more fun than originally promised. After all, what clone wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to ‘kidnap and hold hostage’ a senior enbee officer in order to test the security systems within the main GAR compound. Snatching the most hated officer was just a bonus for the sneak thief of the Outcasts, Swipes absolutely hated Tarkin. He hated the natural born officer even more than he hated Captain Rex and that was saying a lot. 

Looking over at Jackal, he gestured for the younger infiltration specialist to remove the bag over Tarkin’s head. Thinking back on it, it had been almost disgustingly easy to snatch the officer from his lavish quarters. Sneak had hacked into the security network, again, to put the cameras on a loop; Jackal and Quicksilver had worked with Wrench to mix up some knockout gas (which also made all three clones pretty high for a few minutes which gave everyone a laugh); and Swipes had crawled through the ventilation system, dropped the gas canisters into Tarkin’s quarters and then dragged the unconscious officer out of the building again via the vents. This whole exercise was basically Dagorlad’s way of proving to the Jedi Council and the GAR High Command that nowhere was safe during the war, not even the supposedly impenetrable GAR compound. Dragged from his musings by Tarkin’s muffled protests, Swipes sat up and casually pointed his knife at the officer, the dim light catching the deadly serrations and the beautiful raindrop damascus patterning on the kukri-bowie hybrid. 

“Shut up Tarkin, my only orders are that we eventually give you back alive. We don’t have to play nice in the meantime.” 

Sliding off the crate with the grace of a hunting cat, Swipes started to prowl around the chair that Tarkin was tied to. It was all a game to him really, this hostage taking shit, although not the best of games. It was fun in that he got a thrill actually carrying out the kidnapping but the waiting afterwards was as boring as hell. No fun at all. Chuckling quietly as he watched the gaunt officer eye him and his knife, Swipes stopped prowling and instead just crouched in front of Tarkin. 

“You almost got me and my brothers killed trying to rescue your ungrateful hide from the Citadel, you did kill one of the 501st and several of the 212th because you just had to get caught.” 

There was no amusement in Swipes’s eyes as he pointed his knife directly at Tarkin’s chest, the clone’s dark sense of amusement satisfied when he saw a tiny spark of what might have been fear in Tarkin’s eyes. 

“Their blood is on your hands, I don’t give a damn what information you supposedly had on you. If I was in your place I wouldn’t have just sat there and waited to be saved … I’d have broken myself out or died in the process!” 

He was shouting now, not caring at all if they were overheard. There were only rats, a few pirates and other scumbags this far down into Coruscant’s underworld anyway, no one who’d report him. Looking at Tarkin in disgust, Swipes angrily backhanded the officer with his free hand. None of the other clones moved to stop him, instead they just watched like silent, judging sentinels. No help would be coming to Tarkin from them. 

“Sod giving you back for free, I’m gonna screw the GAR for every fucking credit I can if they want your flea ridden hide back!” 

Suddenly going quiet as a shark-like grin twisted across his face, Swipes eyed Tarkin for a moment before laughing and standing. 

“It’ll be blood money I suppose. You and your friends will be paying for some of the blood you make us spill every fucking day. And that makes all this …” 

He gestured around the gloomy, damp room before looking back at Tarkin. 

“That makes all this fucking worth it. We might get in trouble for taking you hostage Tarkin, but at least what we get out of it will be the down payment for what you’ve taken from us.”


	9. Blood on the Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two brothers are trapped ... alone, wounded and scared. Only one of them will make it out. A grieving brother is the most dangerous sort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: death mention, blood

Swipes struggled back to consciousness, coughing painfully and fighting back a gasp as pain exploded in his side. Looking around the dark, dusty interior of the crashed gunship, the young clone struggled to make out anything, let alone his brother. 

“Swoop?” 

He broke off, coughing again fitfully as he struggled. 

“Swoopy!” 

“Swipes?” 

The weak murmur got Swipes’s attention and he tried to move, only to yelp out in pain again. Looking down at his side, he saw that a part of the gunship door was now forcibly imbedded in his side, blood covering both it and his armor. Gritting his teeth, he picked it up and tried to move with it, crawling towards the sound of his brother’s voice. 

“Keep talking Swoop! Lemme know where you are!” 

His brother’s weak cries spurred Swipes to try and move faster, ignoring the blood pouring down his side as he struggled towards his brother. Pushing some shrapnel and broken crates out of the way, Swipes let out a startled shout when he saw his brother. 

“Swoopy!” 

Swoop was slumped against what would’ve once been the ceiling of the gunship, a large slab of one of the doors embedded in his chest. Swoop looked up weakly, coughing before he tried to smile tiredly at his distraught sibling. 

“Hey Swipy. I … I think we’re in trouble here.” 

Swipes laughed quietly, slumping down to sit next to his brother. 

“Even more than that time with Lama Su’s wallet, Old Man Skirata’s knife and Mird the strill?” 

“Even more than … than that.” 

Swoop nodded as he struggled to get the words out, laughing weakly even while blood bubbled up around the metal embedded in his chest. Swipes clung onto Swoop, his smashed visor failing to hide the tears currently streaming down his face. 

“We’re gonna get out of this together Swoopy. I promise, we’re both gonna make it.” 

Surely they were too valuable to just be abandoned … right? 

*** 

Swipes didn’t know how long he and Swoop lay there in the crashed gunship, surrounded by broken crates and rent metal. It felt like years though, even when he finally heard voices coming from outside the gunship. 

“Over here! We got life signs here!” 

Swipes looked up tiredly, trying to sit up so he could see what was going on. 

“Here! We … we’re over here!” 

He looked over at Swoop and smiled crookedly, a quiet cough escaping him. 

“See Swoopy? We made it.” 

His vision blurred and unclear, he could only see blue, black and white as the crates were cleared away from him and Swoop. Swipes couldn’t help the cry of alarm though when hands grabbed him and started to pull him free. 

“No! No not me! Get him out first! Swoop!” 

Fighting weakly, Swipes tried to get back to his brother. Swoop was reaching for him, he could see it! Why wasn’t he being rescued to?! A hand settled on his shoulder and he looked up to see a high ranking clone looking down at him, his blue pauldron and Jaig eyes the only things he could clearly see. 

“We need to get you out first lad. We’ll come back for him I promise.” 

The promise didn’t stop Swipes from fighting, even as he was laid out on a stretcher and carried onto a medical gunship. Focusing as best he could on the Jaig eye officer, Swipes struggled to sit upright. 

“You get him out! You promised!” 

“We’ll get him out, I promise.” 

The Jaig eye officer nodded, watching as Swipes was carried away on the gunship. 

*** 

Swipes woke up on a medical station, bacta soaked bandages wrapped around his torso concealing a neat line of stitches that closed the gash in his side. Looking around tiredly, Swipes managed to catch the attention of a medic that was inspecting another trooper. 

“Hey … where’s my brother?” 

The medic looked over at him with a frown, walking over and checking his chart. 

“Brother?” 

Swipes struggled to sit up even a little bit, his eyes wide and scared. 

“Yeah my brother Swoop … 7912 …” 

The medic consulted his datapad before looking at Swipes, his eyes tired and sympathetic. 

“No trooper with the number 7912 has been admitted to the medical station … I’m sorry.” 

Swipes’s eyes widened as his world collapsed around him. Swoop … Swoop wasn’t here?! He … he’d never been brought to the medical station?? But … but that officer had promised! 

“He … he promised … he promised he’d get him out!” 

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he fought to get out of bed, wanting to find out what had happened. 

“He promised!!!” 

The medic shoved him back into the bed, shaking his head. 

“Look … all the 501st wounded were brought here as per Captain Rex’s orders. Your brother isn’t here … so he’s probably still down on Geonosis … he never made it out.” 

Swipes screamed, tears still pouring down his distraught features as he fought the medic. 

“But he promised! That officer promised!!” 

He didn’t feel the dull sting of the hypo until his limbs started feeling heavier and heavier and he slumped back onto the bed. Slowly as he lay there, unable to do anything as the medic went back to checking on the other wounded, his grief started to twist to a blazing hate. That officer … that officer had lied to him! That officer had left Swoop to die, had left his brother to bleed out alone and in the dark. That officer … Swipes would see to it that Swoop’s death didn’t go unavenged. There would be more blood on the sands yet … that was a promise.


	10. Once I had a Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's best to leave the past alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: death, people getting run through with lightsabers, abuse of a minor  
> // Start of a flashback  
> \\\ End of a flashback

No one was owning up to who had actually found the holofile, but that didn’t stop every clone in the Outcasts cramming into the Command Center to watch said holo on the big holotable. After all … what clone wouldn’t want to see their general as a kid … a tiny, scrawny gap-toothed toddler with a lisp that melted even their durasteel hearts. No one noticed said general leaning in the doorway, a slightly haunted look on his face as memories flashed in front of his eyes. 

*** 

//“Awwww … I wanna come.” 

Two and a half years old, mobile and talkative much to everyone else’s worry, little Dagorlad Fett pouted as his father crouched down in front of him. Rhys smiled, reaching out and ruffling his son’s blond curls before standing and putting his helmet on. 

“It’s only a quick job Dag’ika. Your mother, brother and I will be back before you know it.” 

Dagorlad just huffed, his bottom lip jutting out for a moment before he consented to one of the older Mandalorians not going on the Korda 6 job picking him up. 

“Okay buir.” 

Watching his father walk over to his mother and brother and the three of them wave at him before walking up the ship’s ramp, Dagorlad didn’t know that this would be the last time he saw his parents again. He didn’t know that only one ship would limp back to their main camp more than a week later, that only his brother, his uncle Jango and a few others from the Korda 6 job would slowly make their way down that ramp. He just … didn’t know.\\\ 

*** 

Dagorlad blinked and frowned, looking over the crowds of clones as the holo continued to play. He knew which one it was now, and it was one he’d thought he’d destroyed. It … it contained everything. His entire childhood, such as it was … it was his past. The past that he’d wanted hidden so that no one could use it against him again. 

*** 

//“Get up kid.” 

Dagorlad managed to push himself up onto his hands and knees, coughing quietly and spitting out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. He was seven years old, one year away from being allowed to accompany his remaining family on jobs. But that meant one more year of training, and the cranky Duros acquaintance of Jango had been more than happy to oblige. Struggling to his feet, Dagorlad gripped the training staff again and looked defiantly up at Bane, his good eye half swollen shut from the bruising and blood trickling from his mouth. He was sick and tired of the grouchy mercenary beating the crap out of him as ‘training’, his older brother just watching quietly and recording the training session on his helmet for later review. 

“One of thesthe daysth I’m gonna fekkin’ kill ya Bane.” 

His voice rasped and lisped, distorting some of his words. Bane continued to just chew on that damn toothpick as he looked down at Dagorlad. 

“I look forward to seeing you try brat.”\\\ 

*** 

Dagorlad was silent, letting the Outcast clones watch the holo uninterrupted. They too had gone quiet, some even exchanging uncomfortable looks. Dagorlad had to hide a grim smirk at that … it was about time that they realised they weren’t the only ones to have had a pretty shitty childhood. 

*** 

//Galidraan was … not impressive at all. It was bleak and snow covered, not really a good environment for a curious nine year old Dagorlad on his first ‘proper’ mission with his family and the rest of the True Mandalorian’s. He’d already explored the entirety of the camp and the scrappy example of a forest surrounding it using the excuse that he was making sure they hadn’t been found, but now he was just plain bored. Jango and his brother had been gone all day scouting out the camp they’d been hired to take out and none of the other Mandalorian’s were particularly interested in tolerating his presence. Why would they? He was a child still, four years off being classed as an adult and the least experienced being on the mission. His job was to do as he was told and not piss anyone off and that was it. 

*** 

The actual job didn’t take that long to complete, they’d caught the rebels off guard and outclassed them in terms of fighting skill. Dagorlad sat next to his brother by the empty fire pit, a small smile on his face as he cleaned blood splatter off his helmet. He’d done good, distracting the rebels and wounding them so that the older warriors could finish them off with ease, a task that had earned him praise from his family. Now Jango was off collecting their pay and everyone else was winding down and packing up the camp so they could leave. A shiver ran up the nine year old’s spine and he looked around nervously, wondering what was wrong. He hadn’t told anyone but Jango about the weird ‘feelings’ he got sometimes, about how one time he got angry and shattered the training dummy without touching it … he’d been too scared. He hadn’t asked to be able to do whatever it was he could do, it had just happened. Getting up and looking around again, Dagorlad placed his helmet on to hide how nervous he was getting. Something … something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong, Jango wouldn’t have burst through the trees like a bat out of hell shouting about Jedi if everything was alright. That stirred the camp up though, warriors grabbing weapons and forming up in a defensive formation. Dagorlad yelped when he felt his brother grab him by the scruff and all but throw him down behind some crates. 

“Ow! Talan …” 

“Stay here.” 

Dagorlad shrank back when his brother looked at him, golden eyes meeting gold and blue behind the blank visors of their helmets. 

“I’m not letting the Jetii take you away from me.” 

Dagorlad could only nod silently and crouch down behind the crates, watching as several cloak wearing beings confronted his family and the other Mandalorians. He didn’t know who said what that started the fighting, but pretty soon there were blaster bolts everywhere and fancy glowing swords (fekking glow-swords!) batting them away. The fighting switched to close quarters and Dagorlad desperately tried to spot his brother in the madness. When he finally did though … he wished with everything he had that he hadn’t. No nine year old should see one of their only remaining family members get run through with such impunity … Talan’s body hitting the ground with a solid thud that even Dagorlad’s battered old helmet managed to pick up. His brother didn’t get up again, beskad slipping from limp fingers to lay there in the snow while the Jedi moved on to another Mandalorian. Like … like the life she’d taken didn’t even matter. 

“TALAN!” 

Dagorlad’s scream echoed out over the battlefield as he broke cover, one of the crates he had been hiding behind shattering into thousands of splinters. Pulling his little knife from its sheath at his waist, Dagorlad ignored the startled shouts around him as he ran recklessly onto the battlefield, tripping and stumbling over corpses as he searched for the Jedi that had killed his brother. Tears tracked down his freckled face, blurring his vision as he searched, but he … he couldn’t let the Jedi get away with what she’d done! The battlefield was a lot emptier now, more corpses than living beings scattered about over the blood covered snow. Dagorlad spotted the Jedi he was hunting fighting Jango and let out an angry shout, running forward and slashing his knife into her side. It was enough, Jango quickly killing the distracted Jedi before looking around and shoving Dagorlad behind him. They were surrounded now by Jedi … and it was only the two of them left.\\\ 

*** 

Dagorlad had seen enough, and he knew if he allowed his men to see any more of the holofile he’d probably get accused of sedition. Pushing his way through the crowd of clones, he stopped the recording and made the reader eject the datafile. Picking it up, Dagorlad looked at the tiny little chip and considered crushing it for a moment before sighing and stashing it in his belt. He couldn’t destroy it … it was his history. 

“Wardaddy ... ?” 

The question got Dagorlad’s attention and he looked tiredly at the confused clones surrounding him, for once feeling a lot older than he actually was. 

“Once I had a family … but bad situations, Death Watch and the Jedi took them from me. Now I have you guys, but do me a favor?” 

He looked down at where he’d stashed the chip. 

“Let the past stay there.” 

No clone stopped him and neither did his own student as he pushed his way out of the room. He doubted they could’ve even if they’d wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this one made me a bit angsty ... but hope you guys enjoy it! Feel free to review and let me know what you thought! ^_^


	11. The Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still disguised as his father Rhys Fett, Dagorlad Fett journey's to Serenno alongside Morallo Eval and Cad Bane. Who knows what's gonna happen once they get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop! Another oneshot finally ... I'm so behind on updating this ^^''  
> This oneshot finishes the miniseries that also consists of Only Temporary, This Looks Like Fun and Hunted By Family. Together they make up my version of the Rako Hardeen arc.
> 
> TW: blood, bodily harm and death mention

Serenno was so lovely at this time of year, at least from an aesthetics point of view. Dagorlad knew this was probably the most dangerous part of his mission though. If Dooku figured him out and blew his cover then things were going to get very bad very fast. As it was, when they descended the ramp it was Eval that was stopped and not Dagorlad. Mentally shrugging, Dagorlad watched alongside Cad Bane as Eval was forced to give stuttering excuses to Count Dooku before they were allowed to join several other well known hunters in the courtyard of Dooku’s palace. Dagorlad recognised several but respected only a few, nodding cordially in Embo’s direction whilst coldly ignoring Sixtat and Jakoli. He knew the hunting tallies and he knew reputations, Dooku really had to be scraping the bottom of the barrel if he’d invited those two. Hearing a blaster shot, Dagorlad turned to find Bane picking up a large, wide-brimmed hat up off the corpse of an Ithorian hunter. 

“Really? We’ve been here less than an hour and already you’re killing people?” 

Bane set the hat on his head at a jaunty angle and shrugged. 

“What? It’s a nice hat.” 

All the hunters looked away from the scene as Dooku approached, the Count clearly a fan of theatre and dramatics with the way he swooped in, cape billowing out behind him whilst flanked by his guards. 

“Welcome to Serenno. You have been selected to partake in this little contest because you are some of the best bounty hunters in the Galaxy.” 

Dooku looked around at the assembled throng of hunters. 

“Derrown, known simply as: The Exterminator. Jakoli, you are known for never bringing anyone back alive.” 

Dagorlad could almost taste the sneer in Dooku’s words as he looked at the eager Rodian before the Count continued. 

“Twazzi, your acrobatics once earned the high praise of Chancellor Valorum. Kiera Swan, three time winner of the Obsidian Sphere. Onca, you and your brother were a formidable team. This challenge may be all the more difficult for you alone.” 

Looking over at the cooling corpse of Onca’s brother, Dagorlad couldn’t help but agree with the Count. It was hard to work solo if one was used to working as part of a team. Dooku cleared his throat and continued like nothing was wrong. 

“Sinrich, inventor of the holographic disguise matrix. Embo; your bounty tallies were second to only one last season. Cad Bane … who needs no introduction.” 

Oh Dagorlad could just feel the smugness radiating off Bane at that. The Duros was good and he knew it, but he didn’t need to rub it in for Manda’s sake! 

“Rhys Fett, the infamous Shadow of Mandalore. Sixtat, the Outlands Butcher. Mantu, your people were once a peaceful race. How far they have fallen …” 

Dooku shook his head in mock sympathy before looking around at the assembled hunters. 

“Together you will enter what we call the Box. Not all of you are expected to survive, but for those of you who do the rewards will be far sweeter. Together, we shall bring the Republic to its pitiful knees.” 

Dooku was clearly winding himself up for some great speech, Dagorlad could see it. But Eval spoiled the whole thing by interrupting and going off about how he’d designed the Box as a hazards simulator. When they were told to surrender their weaponry, Dagorlad raised an eyebrow but complied and set the blasters and knives he was carrying onto the cart. He neglected to do anything about his gauntlet vibroblades though, and seeing as no one was going to say anything he wasn’t going to do anything. 

*** 

Dagorlad was not impressed by the blank white interior of the Box, nor was he impressed by all of Eval’s posturing on the vidscreen walls. And really, dioxis? Talk about cliche. Trusting his helmet seals, Dagorlad brutally kicked Onca off one of the rising pillars and scrambled on, frowning when the pillars stopped rising and the gas level also stayed the same. 

“Well, that wasn’t so bad.” 

Throwing an evil glare at Sixtat, Dagorlad coldly sneered at the idiot. 

“You just had to say that didn’t you di’kut? Just had to tempt fate.” 

And tempted it was, as Twazzi’s pillar rose until she had to jump off or face being crushed. Dagorlad cursed as his own pillar started to rise and looked around. Seeing Jakoli on a still unmoving pillar, he jumped from his own to the Rodian’s and grinned at the other being’s startled cry. 

“Sorry, I’m in this to win.” 

He shoved the Rodian off the pillar so he could get a better stance, ignoring Jakoli’s desperate pleas for mercy and barely batting an eye when the Rodian fell into the dioxis cloud. Looking around, he frowned thoughtfully. There had to be a way out of this room, and it clearly wasn’t in the ceiling … the floor. The panel that had opened to release the gas … dioxis was a strange one, dense but not so dense that it practically hugged the ground. Inhaling and hoping the helmet’s filters could withstand the gas, Dagorlad jumped off his pillar and started looking around for the hole in the floor. Stepping over Jakoli’s carcass, he almost fell down the open hatch and swore loudly. 

“Fekking haran!” 

Shaking his head and kicking the dead Rodian for good measure, Dagorlad slid down the hatch and started to poke around, flinching in surprise when a tunnel opened. Rolling his eyes, he looked back up at the cloud of dioxis above his head. 

“The hole in the floor where the gas came out! It’s clear and there’s a tunnel that probably leads to the next room down here!” 

He didn’t bother to wait, crawling down the horribly narrow and cramped tunnel before escaping it into another room. At least this one had a color scheme: the black, red and ominous glowing yellow was a lot less stark and painful on the eyes. He could have done without the giant image of Eval’s face though. 

“Well … only one casualty in the first round. I can assure you, that won’t be the case here.” 

Glowing, stabbing things mounted on retractable pillars that just randomly showed up and then retracted again. Of all the stupid …?! Dagorlad barely dodged one before it spitted the hunter that had been hiding behind him. Looking over at Sinrich’s impaled corpse, Dagorlad shrugged and dodged another pillar before taking a closer look at them. The more he watched them, the more he realised that there was a certain pattern to the way they appeared and retracted, leading up to an exit in the ceiling. Timing his jumps, Dagorlad started to climb up the pillars, effectively showing the other hunters how to escape the trap even as two more hunters fell to the blades. The Mandalorian gave a pragmatic shrug and continued to make his way out of the trap, refusing to let the deaths bother him. They all knew what they were getting into, they knew they risked death. And while technically he was a Jedi, he was a Mandalorian first. He’d shed no tears for the deaths of other hunters. 

*** 

“You’re a Parwan, you inject the serum.” 

Dagorlad folded his arms and glowered at Derrown while the ray shields hummed around them and drew ever closer. They’d already claimed Mantu, leaving a grand total of six hunters remaining. Bane looked over at Dagorlad and frowned, shoving the Mandalorian. 

“Who put you in charge Fett?” 

“The common sense that tells me that our Parwan friend here has a fifty fifty chance of not dying because of the serum. That’s better than our chances ‘cause it’d kill us, ergo the Parwan takes the serum and gets us out of this mess!” 

Dagorlad roughly shoved Bane back, towering over the lanky Duros until Bane snarled and backed down. Looking over at Derrown, Dagorlad let out a frustrated growl. 

“Hurry up!” 

The ray shields were almost literally touching his shebs before Derrown managed to deactivate them, and Dagorlad was not happy about how close the call had been. All the same, they weren’t dead so that was tolerable. Shoving past the Parwan, he let out a dark laugh. 

“Good thing I’ve killed Parwan’s before, otherwise we’d have all been fried.” 

*** 

A sniper test. A bloody sniper test. Only if you failed this one, you got flash fried whole. Dagorlad looked casually down at the flames that had just claimed Sixtat before looking over at Bane. 

“You wanna try next or should I?” 

The rather blunt shove towards the rifle answered Dagorlad’s question and he rolled his eyes, taking the rifle and checking it before setting it to his shoulder. Looking around, he let out an annoyed noise. 

“If you’re going to give us a new rifle every time someone dies, at least give us ones with full charges.” 

The targets weren’t that difficult to chase and shoot, what was annoying was Eval’s intervention. 

“Fett! Your interferences have gone on too long!” 

“Hey, I’m just trying to win this stupid contest of yours, don’t blame me if you can’t put together a decent challenge.” 

Dagorlad rolled his eyes at Eval’s petulant behavior. Honestly, what was the being expecting … everyone to die and leave him to complete whatever job it was they were being tested for alone? 

“Well Fett, consider your contest lost.” 

Dagorlad yelped as the platform literally dropped out from underneath him, sending him on a one way course with the flames below. He didn’t expect the grappling cord that wrapped itself around his wrist, almost pulling his arm out of it’s socket when he abruptly stopped. Looking up at Bane, Dagorlad was both surprised and grateful that the Duros had saved his life. Eval wasn’t. 

“How dare you defy Morallo Eval!” 

“If you wanna kill ‘im, do it like a man.” 

Dagorlad raised an eyebrow at Bane’s sneering words, but the Duros had saved him from being flambéd, he wasn’t going to complain. A platform rose up to provide him with a support base, allowing Dagorlad to free himself from Bane’s grappling cord before being lowered to the now flame free ground. Watching as Eval was shoved into the makeshift arena by Dooku, Dagorlad’s sharp eyes watched the twisted being. Eval had designed the Box, and he’d seen the being use a control gauntlet earlier, that had to go. 

In fact, that was the first thing he was going to get rid of … once he wasn’t being used for target practice by the droids Eval had summoned. Kicking one into the wall and punching one into the flames, Dagorlad grabbed the third and angrily threw it at Eval to distract him. With the other hunter trying to get the droid out of his face, Dagorlad ran forward and slammed shoulder first into Eval, sending the two of them tumbling. Eval got a good kick in before Dagorlad was on him again, smashing the being’s control gauntlet against the ground until it fritzed and died on him. That got an enraged snarl from Eval who swiped at Dagorlad’s head, damaging one of the seals on his helmet and cracking the visor. Dagorlad rolled away, yanking his helmet off and throwing it aside before having to scramble away from a kick that Eval had aimed at him. Getting back to his feet, Dagorlad deployed the vibroblades in his gauntlets and went on the offensive, scoring a few deep slashes in Eval’s arms. Keeping himself out of the other hunter’s reach, Dagorlad practically danced circles around Eval, darting in to deliver vicious punches and slashes before retreating again. The cuts weren’t life threatening, his vibroblades weren’t long enough for that, but the wounds he delivered with them were enough to send Eval into a mindless rage. Narrowly dodging a wild swipe that could’ve ripped his throat out, Dagorlad grabbed Eval’s arm and twisted it viciously, pulling at the same time until he heard a crack followed by a pained shriek. Releasing Eval’s useless arm, Dagorlad let the shrieking being come to him before brutally repeating his earlier attack on Eval’s other arm, rendering Eval almost defenceless. 

“Finish him off then Fett.” 

Dagorlad looked up at the giant image of Dooku before looking back at Eval with cold eyes. 

“Looks like you ain’t as valuable as you like to think you are Eval.” 

“But … but this whole idea was mine! You can’t do it without me!” 

Dagorlad shrugged, looking from Eval to Dooku to the bloodied blades on his gauntlets with cold golden eyes. 

“Obviously not. Too bad … for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:
> 
> di'kut: idiot
> 
> Fekking haran!: Lit. Fucking hell!
> 
> Please lemme know what you think! I treasure every single kudos and review X3


	12. Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing more stupid than pissing off the clones that know over thirty ways to kill you with just a stylus and their imagination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I really need to catch up on updating this! My bad ^^''
> 
> Most oneshots can also be found on my tumblr: @outcastcommander

Their Senior General was fighting for his lift on one of the orbiting destroyers, their Junior General had just had his arm ripped off and was in no fit state to be doing anything. That meant that things fell to Sunny to decide what to do next. Standing with Wrench, Swipes and Barricade around an ammunition crate, Sunny folded his arms and let out an angry, feral growl. 

“He’s gone too far.” 

“He went too fucking far when he set us all against each other for his own amusement.” 

Wrench sneered angrily as he took a mouthful of whatever the booze du jour was in his hip flask. The medic was exhausted, angry and more than a little plastered … but not so much that he was a hindrance. Sunny had known Wrench long enough now to know when the medic was too drunk to be of any use and when he was actually a lot more dangerous than he was when sober. 

“Warbrat’s sleeping for now. But it’s going to take months for him to recover, even if he gets one of them fancy new prosthetics.” 

Swipes growled at Wrench’s proclamation, his golden eyes blazing with volatile hatred. 

“Then we take the problem out ourselves.” 

He looked around, getting nods of agreement from Barricade, Wrench and even Sunny. There was almost a grim irony to it … that it would take a Jedi trying to kill the Jedi that the Outcasts saw as theirs to bring the constantly warring Captain and First Lieutenant together. 

“That bastard will learn to fear our wrath.” 

Sunny nodded sharply, a feral and dangerous light in his eyes. They’d been pushed too far … and no one was going to be able to stop them this time. 

“Then it’s settled. We kill Krell … our way.”


	13. That's Leading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Umbara screwed everyone up ... even the supposedly unshakable Jedi of Outcast Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one update! ^^
> 
> Yes ... Dagorlad is very fond of tough love and is a foul mouthed git ... I ain't apologizing for that

Dagorlad watched quietly as Nikov struggled to complete his set of pull ups with his new arm, the dull metal barely reflecting any of the gym’s stark lights. Frowning when he saw what remained of Nikov’s shoulder spasm, the older warrior limped forward to intervene. The day Wrench let him off his crutches would be a welcome day indeed. 

“That’s enough. Drop before you actually do yourself another injury.” 

Nikov reluctantly let go of the bar, stumbling as he landed and scowling fiercely as he rubbed at the space where his arm met the prosthetic. 

“Ah ‘ate dis thin’.” 

“I noticed. Wrench has too … he said Trauma had noted down you weren’t doing your physio like you should’ve been.” 

Dagorlad frowned sternly and decided Nikov needed a few harsh lessons hammering home. 

“You fucked up. We get that. But it wasn’t your fault either.” 

Nikov just glared at Dagorlad, silver eyes blazing like molten metal. He didn’t respond though, so Dagorlad just pushed on. 

“That’s leadership Nikov. You do great for a few months then you go through times of near catastrophic fuck ups. That’s part of learning to be a leader.” 

Nikov’s sullen silence was starting to get annoying, causing Dagorlad to gently cuff him around the head. 

“Say something kid.” 

A glare. 

“Say something for Manda’s sake!” 

“Wha’ d’ya wan’ meh ta say?” 

Nikov glared angrily at Dagorlad, shoving the older warrior away from him. 

“Ya nearleh die’! Krell too’ ova an’ ah coul’n’ stop ‘im! I ‘ad ta leave mah vode ta die ‘cause tha’ dar’jetii rippe’ mah fuckin’ arm off! Shall ah say aneh more or d’ya wan’ meh to go bac’ furtha’ than the las’ few months!” 

Dagorlad let Nikov shout and rant before giving him a more solid smack around the ear. 

“Katinii.” 

Nikov froze, glaring murderously at Dagorlad. The blond barely even blinked. 

“This was the first time you had a command where I wasn’t available to put things right if you cocked up. Mistakes and screw ups are natural in that sort of situation, even more so when you’re dealing with a traitor.” 

He looked at Nikov with hard, impassive eyes. 

“That’s leading Nikov. It’s about damn time you learnt that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:
> 
> Katinii: Suck it up


End file.
